I need a doctor
by Quill Angel
Summary: John looks up at him. "Sick, are we?" he asks. Pale pink lips pull up in a smirk. Sherlock leans against the door, eyes bright with intent. "Oh, yes, Doctor Watson," he says, one pale hand running down his chest and brushing crudely between his legs. "Very." (pwp. estd relationship.)


**Post-exam celebration with a little PWP. Enjoy and review. :)**

* * *

 _John, I'm bored._ _SH_

 ** _I thought you were doing that experiment._**

 ** _With the eyeballs._**

 ** _Or was it the pancreas?_**

 _Pancreas exploded. Molly is being dull._ _SH_

 ** _What do you mean exploded?_**

 ** _SHERLOCK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THE KITCHEN_**

 _The kitchen is fine._ _SH_

 ** _Good._**

 _It's the bathroom you should be worried about._ _SH_

 ** _Go clean it up._**

 _Boring._ _SH_

 ** _Sherlock._**

 _John._ _SH_

 _John?_ _SH_

 _John._ _SH_

 _John I'm bored._ _SH_

 ** _Then go ask Molly for another pancreas._**

 _I'm also horny. I attempted to masturbate but the results have proven unsatisfactory. My erection persists._ _SH_

 ** _Jesus, Sherlock._**

 _What? SH_

 ** _Don't give me a stiffy now. I'm at work._**

 _I know you're at work. You are at work for unforgivably long periods of time. Leaving me wanting and horny. SH_

 ** _Go wank and then I'll come home and fuck you._**

 _Why don't I come by and you can fuck me? SH_

 ** _Sherlock no. I'm at work._**

 _Yes. Wouldn't you rather fuck me instead, John? SH_

 ** _Damn it, Sherlock._**

 _I'm so hard John. I think I need a doctor. SH_

 ** _You're already here aren't you._**

 _Yes. SH_

John puts his phone done, heaving a frustrated, slightly aroused sigh and the intercom buzzes. "Mr. Holmes," the nurse informs him, sounding very much on the verge of giggles."Sore throat."

John is well aware Sherlock does _not_ have a sore throat, but he presses a finger to the button and tells her, "Send him in," in what he hopes is a perfectly neutral voice.

The door immediately opens, an Sherlock walks in.

John looks up at him. "Sick, are we?" he asks.

Pale pink lips pull up in a smirk. Sherlock leans against the door, eyes bright with intent. "Oh, _yes,_ Doctor Watson," he says, one pale hand running down his chest and brushing crudely between his legs. " _Very._ "

John raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?" he asks, swirling his chair around so he can look at him properly. "What's your predicament?"

Sherlock stalks towards him, slipping his scarf off his neck and flinging it on the desk as he does so, all easy grace and slender limbs, before placing his palms on either side of John's chair and leaning down so he can whisper in John's ear. "I've been so _hard_ all day, doctor," he says, finishing it off with a slow lick behind John's ear.

"Mmm," John murmurs, his cock already thickening under his trousers. "That doesn't sound like a medical emergency to me," he says, placing a palm against a bony hip. "Don't think it counts."

"Oh please, don't send me away, Dr Watson," Sherlock asks softly, straightening up so he can slide his coat to the ground, keeping those silvery multi coloured eyes on John the whole time. Underneath his purple shirt strains against his chest, the first two buttons already undone, pale throat and sternum enticingly visible, as well as the outline of Sherlock's hard cock against his trousers.

"Sherlock, you really shouln't—" John starts to say something dull and boring, but Sherlock shuts him up quite effectively by promptly straddling his lap. He leans in closer against John's ear, his voice a throaty rumble as he says, "It's so _uncomfortable,_ doctor," rolling his hips slowly against John's growing erection to emphasize his point. "Nothing helps, I've just been so _horny_ , please, doctor, help me." He presses his nose against John's neck, moving his hips in a slow motion so that John's cock brushes filthily against the crack of his arse, still maddeningly sheathed by his bloody skin tight trousers.

 _To hell with it,_ John thought.

"What do you need?" he asks, throwing his head back as Sherlock mouths up his neck, lips warm and wet, rhythmically moving back and forth against John's cock, barely giving him enough friction, teasingly swirling his tight arse right over the tip.

"I think you'll have to fuck me, doctor," he says raggedly, voice taking on a rough edge with arousal. "Take me hard over that table over there. Think I need a cock up my arse ramming into me so I _scream—"_

" _Fuck,"_ John groans, hips thrusting up to meet Sherlock's stiff cock through his trousers, arm tight around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. "You're going to kill me."

Sherlock chuckled low and deep in his ear. "Death by orgasm," another torturous roll. "Not a bad way to go."

John groans and grabs him roughly by the back of his neck to smash his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock gives a breathless gasp and John takes that plump bottom lip into his mouth and sucks. "That filthy mouth," John admonishes lightly, slipping his tongue into Sherlock's panting mouth, sliding a hand underneath him to cup his arse. Sherlock's mouth goes impossibly pliant, barely reciprocating, only breathing heavily into John's mouth as he grips his shoulders and dry humps his cock. "Look at you, you look like you're going to come from barely a kiss," John mocks, squeezing his bottom. Sherlock moves the rigid length of his cock against his stomach, rubbing it and bouncing against John's erection over their clothes. It's so fucking _filthy_ that John wonders if _he's_ going to come, without even having been inside Sherlock.

"Come on then, doctor, _fuck me_ ," Sherlock whispers against his mouth, and John almost loses it.

"You. Off," he orders, and Sherlock immediately jumps off, only to have his body pressed up against the examination table as John kicks the chair out of the way. He grabs hold of his hips and presses their bodies together, and Sherlock gasps at the feel of his erection, thick and heavy and hot, fingers scrambling for purchase against the table as John bites his collarbone. "Fucking tease," he growls, and his hands move to the waistline of his trousers, roughly jerking his shirt out of them, before flicking the buttons out of their holes.

"John, fuck, _fuck,_ " Sherlock groans, hitching a leg around his waist to pull him against his crotch, shamelessly rutting against him even as his whole body is trembling. His mouth is swollen and rough from John's teeth, the pale skin around it reddened from John's stubble, nipples perk from the cool air of the room and cheeks flushed a deep pink from arousal. He looks impossibly debauched and John's not even _halfway_ done with him yet.

"Is this what you wanted?" John asks, curling a finger into his hair and wrenching it back, exposing that beautiful bit of pale throat, waiting to be sucked and licked and fucking _bitten—_

Sherlock groans, low and deep, chest heaving and cheeks already flushed with arousal. "God, yes, fuck me, _fuck me_ ," he begs. John runs a palm over his fevered skin, over the quivering planes of his abdomen and chest, to rub his thumb over a nipple. Sherlock gasps at the sensation, whimpering as John gives it a twist. "Please, _please—"_

"I shouldn't be taking advantage of a patient like this," John muses, circling his hips in a filthy motion against Sherlock's crotch. "Whatever would people _say—"_

"It's for my—personal—well being," Sherlock chokes out, gripping at John's shoulder to save himself from sliding to the floor. "God, just _fuck me_ already," he rasps, reaching for John's belt and undoing it with shaking fingers. His own prick is tenting obscenely against his trousers, and John knows he's going to take care of that in a minute, but he just holds Sherlock's hips and lets him make quick work of his zipper and belt, finally freeing his erection from its confines. He looks at it hungrily, licking his lips.

"Not now, love," John tells him, voice tender and soft for a change, bringing him close to press a quick peck to his lips. "Later."

"I—"

"Right now I'm going to fuck you over this table and you're going to come just from my cock inside you," he says quite matter of factly, pinching a nipple and Sherlock actually _whimpers,_ and this is the part that John likes best; when Sherlock goes mindless with pleasure, his computer engine of a brain reduced to shambles from mere _touch._ It's the best part because _John_ does this, and Sherlock willingly allows him; John treasures the trust Sherlock gives to him when he submits himself like this, and it arouses him even more.

"Yes, please," Sherlock agrees, and John smirks, pulling down his zipper and his trousers.

"No pants?" he asks, amused, his cock giving a twitch at the thought that Sherlock had come all the way from Baker Street in a cab, in _public,_ with no fucking _pants_ on. "Very nice, sweetheart."

Sherlock gives him a crooked, half-pleased smile before John kisses it out of him and tangles his fingers in Sherlock's hair, using it as a steering wheel to turn him around and press him against the desk. The trousers slip down his legs, and the sight of Sherlock like this, naked except for the pool of black cotton around his ankles, legs spread wide and arse fully exposed for John, sends shiver after shiver of excited arousal down his spine, and John can't help but reach forward and squeeze the plump flesh. Sherlock squirms, and John pressed down with a palm so he is pressed against the desk, hands gripping the rim hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

"You're not going to remain still, I think," John muses, pressing close so his stiff cock teasingly brushes his entrance. Sherlock enjoys the disparity in clothing, enjoys it when he is completely bare and John is still covered.

"No," Sherlock agrees. "Not at all."

"Think I'll have to tie you up," John says conversationally.

" _Oh god yes_ ," Sherlock breathes, and John reaches over to pick up Sherlock's discarded scarf, twisting his wrists together and placing them higher up on his back, before rounding the wool around them and securing it tightly.

"Better, this," John murmurs, and reaches down to press a kiss to the top of his spine. Sherlock groans, and John pulls his head back with his hair and brings his shaking body close to his own, naked skin against John's covered front. "Be quiet," he warns. "Or I'll gag you too."

With that he pushes Sherlock against the table again, keeping one palm against his spine to prevent him from moving too much, with the other opening the drawer next to them and taking out a packet of medical grade lubricant.

He rips it open with his teeth and dribbles it onto his fingers, before slipping one finger inside him. Sherlock keens, and John has no option but to press his palm against Sherlock's mouth to prevent him from crying out. He can feel Sherlock gasp against his skin as he slowly moves his finger in and out of the tight muscle, Sherlock barely holding on as he bucks his hips back and forth between the table and John's blunt, callused fingers.

"Shhh, love," he says. "I'm not going to fuck you unless you keep quiet. I could just use that pretty mouth of yours and leave you wanting. Do you want that?"

Sherlock attempts to shake his head vigorously, but John gets the message and removes his hand, and Sherlock hisses between his teeth as John slides another finger in, scissoring him open carefully and patiently.

"Ah, ah, John, _please, please,_ " Sherlock pants the top of the table, legs shaking. "God, please,"

"Shhhh. I'll fuck you when you're ready," John says in response, giving one arse cheek a tight smack. Sherlock bites his lip but says nothing, the muscles of his back tight and rigid as John works him open with three fingers now. Sherlock rubs frantically against the desk but John leans down and bites his ear, saying, "None of that, now."

Sherlock stills, and John pulls his fingers out, grabbing hold of his bony hips hard enough to bruise, and brings his cock close to his entrance and shoving inside. Sherlock positively _mewls,_ body going pliant and boneless and John slides all the way inside. His hole clenches tightly around John's cock and he grits his teeth and pushes until his cock is fully seated. Sherlock gasps at the feel of him, crying, "God, fuck, more, _more,_ " and John pulls out slowly before slamming back inside, Sherlock growing steadily more incoherent as he picks up a fast, punishing rhythm.

"Yes, yes, _John,_ Jesus, _fuck, John I love you yes more more more,_ " he rasps, helpless and trussed up, his pliant body shaking under the force of John's thrusts.

"So fucking gorgeous, baby," John says hoarsely, hips snapping against Sherlock's plush arse as he pulls in and out roughly. "Could fuck you like this for _hours,_ god," his fingers dig into his hipbones and Sherlock lets out short, sharp gasps of pleasure-pain as John shoves him back and forth across the surface of the table.

"John, _John,_ touch me, please, please," he begs mindlessly, fingers twitching with the need to get himself off, and John pushes in harder, slipping his hands underneath him and sliding them over the hot skin of his torso, rubbing his nipples with his thumb and pinching them sharply. Sherlock whimpers and spreads his legs as wide as they can go with the confines of his trousers, and John presses a hand against his abdomen, pushing Sherlock against him so he can impale himself impossibly deeper; he thrusts at just the right angle and Sherlock mewls like a cat at the rub of John's cock against his prostate.

"Oh my _god,_ " he gasps. "There, there, John, please, please, _more,_ " he sobs, and John takes pity on him, moving his hands back to grip his waist and angles his hips just _so—_

Sherlock gasps each time John hits the spot, nails digging into his palms and his voice melting into whimpery, breathless moans with each thrust.

"John," he groans. "John, I'm going to— _fuck,_ please, let me—"

"Come for me, love, that's it, fucking _Christ, Sherlock—_ " he bends his body over Sherlock's to bite his neck and muffle his own groan as he spends himself inside him, fucking him through it, short, shallow thrusts that make Sherlock whine with pleasure.

"John, _god, yes,_ " he chokes out hoarsely and John feels him shudder once, twice, thrice, body thrashing underneath him as come splatters the floor and the desk and Sherlock goes impossibly boneless as John continues to push, riding his orgasm out, until they're both exhausted and panting and Sherlock is shivering as the post-orgasmic haze dies down.

John pulls gently out, wincing sympathetically as Sherlock hisses at the stretch, before untying the scarf around his wrists and running his hands soothingly down his arms.

"So perfect, Sherlock, love, you're so fucking amazing," he says, and kisses him softly under his ear.

Sherlock gets up shakily, and John turns him around. His hips are already dotted with finger shaped bruises and there is one blossoming, dark and red on his neck, right above his pulse.

His cheeks are flushed a deep red and his hair hangs in impossible tangles around his face. Sherlock smiles almost shyly down at him and John can't help but wrap his arms around his waist and pull him closer for a kiss, soft and almost chaste, his tongue barely skimming the outline of his mouth.

"You're a bloody treasure," he breathes against his lips. "And all mine."

"Yours," Sherlock agrees, and then he pushes John back, away from the table, kicking off the trousers from around his ankles and his shoes as he does so.

"Sherlock, what—" John asks, even as Sherlock bites his bottom lip to silence him. John's back is shoved against the locked door of the room, and it shakes with the sudden force.

" _John,"_ Sherlock says hungrily, body flushed and hot against John, and even despite the mind –shattering orgasm he just had, John's cock gives an interested twitch. "John, you said—" he stops mid sentence to drive his tongue into John's mouth and John reaches a hand up to cradle his face, opening his mouth, "You said, _later._ You said I could do this."

"Baby, you—"

"Shh," Sherlock admonishes him softly, and gracefully slides to his knees in front of John, naked except for his black cotton socks, and John has no idea why he finds that so _hot—_ and looking at Sherlock kneeling in front of him, hair still sex-rumpled and clothes lying in a wrinkled heap underneath John's desk, sends waves of heat right down to his prick, and god damn it, John's sporting a second erection in the span of oh, two minutes.

"I'm supposed to be getting old," he gasps, and Sherlock gives a non committal hum, before bending his head and mouthing John's cock straight through his trousers.

" _Fuck,"_ John hisses, hand immediately flying to Sherlock's hair. His mouth is wrapped around his cotton-covered erection, and Sherlock gives a sudden _suck_ and John throws his head back so hard against the door it probably should have hurt, but all he is aware of is Sherlock's wet, warm mouth persistently sucking a wet spot into his trousers. "Take them _off_ you nutter," he says raggedly, "I'm at work, _fuck,_ Sherlcok, I'm at work—"

Sherlock slips his lips off his cock and looks up at John, grinning, eyes sparkling. "You really ought to be quiet, you know," he mocks, dexterous fingers trailing up to pull his zipper down slowly, eyes never leaving John's. "All those nurses outside, they probably know _exactly_ what you're doing, know you just fucked your husband right over that desk and now he's on his knees at your feet and he's going to take your big, thick cock down his throat—"

"God, stop _talking,_ " John hisses, hip already bucking up to Sherlock's mouth. His fingers tighten their grip and Sherlock hums, bending forward and licking a leisurely stripe up his prick. John gasps.

"Oh, are we playing then?" he asks brightly, running his hands slowly up John's thighs. "Do you want to fuck my mouth, Doctor? I'll let you, if you ask _nicely..._ " Sherlock places his mouth against John's erection, putting only the tip of it inside, and John's hips shake from the pressure of not shoving right inside.

John looks down and finds Sherlock looking up at him, gaze fever bright and cheeks flushed. His red lips are wrapped around the tip of his cock and he looks innocently up at him, as if challenging him to go right ahead and _take._ The sight of him like that looks positively obscene and John groans, sliding right in, and he can feel Sherlock choking slightly, fingers digging into John's hipbones as he tries to take in his entire length.

"God, yes, baby, you feel so good, yes, _fuck,_ " John's hips start thrusting into the wet, tight heat of Sherlock's mouth, hitting the back of his throat with each push. Sherlock groans, a deep growl from his throat, and bobs his head to take in more of him. His lips are stretched wide around John's cock, saliva running down the sides of his mouth, and the sight of it makes John's cock throb inside his mouth, even as he is sliding it and out, thrusting wildly.

"Yes, _yes, Sherlock,_ fuck, so tight—fuck, I'm going to come, I'm going to—" Sherlock's hands reach up to the back of his thighs to grab his arse cheeks, pressing into the flesh and pushing him harder against his mouth, and John thrusts, the door rattling pretty loudly behind him. Sherlock gives a sharp suck on his cock and John is coming with a shout, fingers wrenching Sherlock's head back with his hair. Sherlock groans against his prick, swallowing him down. "I'm coming, I'm _coming,_ " John says hoarsely, riding Sherlock's mouth as he rides it out.

When John is spent and exhausted and leaning against the door, panting, Sherlock slips his lips off his cock and looks up at him, self satisfied and smug.

"Come up here, you git," John rasps, and pulls him up, wrapping his arms around him and pressing him close. He buries his nose in Sherlock's neck, inhaling his scent. Sherlock sighs, wrapping a hand around John's neck so he can bring his face upward and kiss him.

"Cured, then?" John asks.

"Mmm. Completely," Sherlock replies, and pulls away, turning around to pick up his trousers. John takes the opportunity to have a nice look at his arse. It's a lovely arse.

"Stop ogling me," Sherlock reprimands, and pulls up his trousers. The soft look in his eyes takes away the heat of the comment, though, and he smiles at John as he puts on the rest of his clothes.

"You're filthy," John says, doing up his own trousers. Thankfully he is more or less clean, because Sherlock Holmes can probably give the neatest blow jobs in England.

"Mmm, I've had worse," Sherlock replies smoothly, fastening his buttons. He swirls his coat over his shoulders, and now he's what he looks like to the rest of the world, perfectly put together in his three-piece suit and fancy coat. The only evidence that he spent the last twenty minutes being fucked by his husband is his mess of curls, but since he usually looks like he's just had sex, it doesn't make much of a difference.

They share a look as Sherlock ties his scarf, Sherlock blushing deeply as John smirks. He'll never get tired of that blush, he thinks.

"Did you actually take an appointment?" he asks, walking towards him and running his fingers through Sherlock's mop, in order to tame the wild, flyaway curls.

"Of course," Sherlock says primly, allowing John to smoothen his hair. "You know how I adore doing things legally, John."

John grins and says, "Git," fondly, before curling a hand into the label of his coat and pulling him down for a quick, fierce kiss. "I love you."

"Mmm, me too," Sherlock replies, before pulling away. "Now. I'm busy, John, let me go. Lestrade seems to have texted." He takes out his mobile and flicks through his messages, eyes narrowing. "Body found at Battersea. Male, mid thirties. No known witnesses. Only one child, and he can't speak. Sounds interesting." He looks up at John, smiles.

"I'll meet you there in ten," John promises, and Sherlock bends down to give him one last kiss before sprinting out.


End file.
